


No good deed goes unpunished

by katiebuttercup



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, nice cersei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23384143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: Jaime tries to do a nice thing for a friend by letting brienne move in to his spare room.And the gods were punishing him
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re so screwed”

For as long as he can remember Jaime has wanted his brother and sister to get along but now he realises that the old adage of be careful what you wish for was very very true which is why he’s burrowed his head as far into the table as possible whilst his siblings laugh at his wretchedness. 

Weren’t families supposed to be supportive? He thinks miserably, wasn’t his siblings meant to ease his pain with sweet words and hugs? Why was he cursed with sarcastic bastards?

Cersei, her hair newly dyed raven black in celebration of her recent divorce recovers first. 

“C’mon Jaime you know you’ve dug your own hole now you have to lie in it,” she brushes her hand through his curls in what he supposed is meant to be comforting. It’s really not.

“I don’t think that’s the saying, dear sister, and we’re here to support Jaime,” Tyrion says. Jaime lifts his head to acknowledge his younger brother’s kindness when Tyrion adds with no short supply of glee, “though I can give you my password for some of the websites i like when your hand falls off until you fall into Brienne’s bed”

Jaime glares, “My hand isn’t going to fall off through masturbation, Tyrion!” 

Tyrion simply raises an eyebrow as he drinks his coffee. And for some reason Cersei decides to help. 

“Are you sure? I mean you’ve offered brienne the spare bedroom, you’re going to see her early in the morning, late at night, in jammies and just woken up and wet from the shower in nothing but a towel-“

Jaime’s traitorous mind fills in the gaps, he can imagine just waking up, stumbling to the shower and finding Brienne just leaving, thin blonde hair glued to her neck, skin pink from the heat, large towel wrapped around her body like a second skin, all that bare skin she keeps resolutely covered during the day. Acres of soft white skin, tinged pink and just waiting for him to taste. Jaime’s mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert. 

He’d just wanted to help out a friend. When brienne had complained about her rent skyrocketing without warning he’d offered his spare room without thinking, the pent house was essentially twice as big as Brienne’s apartment, he had the room she had a need and that was that. But now. Now he realises he’s bitten off more than he can chew. 

God how is he going to live with Brienne and pretend he doesn’t want her? 

He groans. Maybe he’ll take the passwords


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: the brienne in this story is based on na bruma-leve’s photoshop of Brienne and specifically the the one with the black top and jeans

The worst part is that Cersei is right. Somehow he’d managed to fool himself into thinking that the small snippets of Brienne that he gets to see normally, at the gym mostly where she is always in charge and completely in control is the Brienne he will be living with. 

He’s wrong. Oh so very wrong. 

The first time he sees her early in the morning, they both are early risers, waking on the dot at six,  
with the soft sunlight backlighting her in a halo,  
Jaime feels his heart quicken and his jeans tighten at a rate that a fourteen year old boy faced with his first adult magazine would be proud of. 

He’s had girlfriends walk around his apartment in lingerie in a tank top and panties in a tiny towel and he’d reacted like any red blooded male. That made sense. Brienne wasn’t beautiful, she wasnt even pretty, her features were coarse and unappealing and she was built almost exactly like him, except for the ever so slight curve of her chest and hip. Except now she was standing at his (their) kitchen counter, stretching her arm, which made the black sweater she wore ride up, exposing a long swathe of toned stomach speckled by a thousand and one freckles. He was distantly aware of the way her jeans fit her like a second skin, but mostly he was trying not to stare at the patch of skin that was begging to be traced by his tongue. 

“I just wanted to say thanks again,” Brienne was saying, and he wishes she would stop thanking him, he was fairly sure that Brienne wouldn’t be so thankful if she knew the way he was staring at her. 

“It’s fine,” he manages, hoping his gruffness could be passed off as early morning grumpiness and not that Jaime’s body had decided to remember he had a sex drive at the worst possible time.

“No,” Brienne says earnestly, and gods that earnestness was going to kill him. “I just want to say that-“ she clears her throat, a red tinge creeping up her neck. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it was. 

“I was wrong about you, you got me out of a terrible situation and-well-thank you-“ 

Jaime can’t hear more of this if he wants to maintain his dignity. He’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Brienne has no idea what she’s doing.

“It’s no problem” he says brusquely. “You’re not exactly a picture to look at with your nose if you’d tried to fight your landlord and his gang of thugs would’ve made it even harder.”

Brienne’s open gratitude freezes over. He wishes he didn’t see it happen. Wishes she was the dour, humourless giantess he thought she was when they first met. 

The red on her neck is embarrassment not a blush, and he misses it. But he can’t let Brienne go back to that hell hole of an apartment and her sleezy landlord who didn’t know how to take no for an answer and she won’t come work for his father, a job that would give her security and enough money to rent any apartment she wanted, but she’d made it clear she wouldn’t work for the Lannister’s. 

And he can’t tell her he lo-likes her, she wouldn’t believe him anyway and so here he was in his own perfect hell, having Brienne in his personal space day and night. 

Brienne chews her lip, and he wants to soothe her but he can’t quite make himself reach out. After a minute she gathers her bag, avoids his gaze and leaves. He wishes she’d punch him or swear at him, he hates this quiet, acceptance that this is her due when he says terrible things. 

Damn it.


	3. Chapter 3

The punching bag didn’t know what had hit it, Jaine has been diligently throwing punches until sweat poured off him and his self loathing had climbed back into his belly.he still had no idea what to say to Brienne, his apologies all sounding rehearsed-because they were because he didn’t trust what came out of his mouth unscripted. Something dumb undoubtedly and it could be anything from an insult to a marriage proposal and anything in between. 

The sweat made his shirt cling to his body on what he knew was an aesthetically pleasing way but which felt cloying and gross but as he slumped onto the bleachers and watched Sandor take his aggression out on the bag he found he didn’t have the motivation to take it off. Maybe he would just lie down here and make an attractive human modern art piece. He’d worked hard enough on his physique he may as well get something out of it. 

“So you said something dumb,” Sandor says as he works the bag just as hard as Jaime had, “Tarth hardly seems like the wallflower type to take it personally”

And there it was. That was the crux of Jaime’s problem because just like him Brienne had an exterior front she used to protect herself, the dour, school marm who could break your arms and legs and not even call it practice. The butch woman who didn’t need or want a man. 

And if that was who Brienne Tarth really was he wouldn’t have felt half as bad as he did. 

The problem was Brienne’s hard exterior was just that-an exterior and it was terrifyingly easy to pierce. Jaime had grown up in a house where sarcastic commentary was the norm, deflection and cruelty the currency that they used to get what they wanted.

Brienne was exactly the opposite. If King Arthur had been brought to life he would’ve knelt before Brienne and claimed he wasn’t a good enough knight. The woman was honour and integrity personified. She rescued little girls in danger of being solicited, she paid for people’s food, she helped people seconds after being insulted by them just because it was the right thing to do and it fried Jaime’s brain just thinking about it. 

Jaime had never been attracted to goodness before, beauty and sensuality and a certain wicked brilliance to be sure but goodness had always seemed something trite and boring like people who only had sex in one position or tv from the 50s. 

Except here he was trying to sweat himself out of his self loathing. 

He stood up to take another turn, body exhausted and dying just to fall over but he pushed through it. This crush was ridiculous, like Brienne’s huge hands and feet, like her buck teeth and the way she legitimately had Disney songs on her iPhone or her beautiful blue eyes that somehow made up for everything else about her. Jaime’s fist hit the unyielding material with a satisfying thump. 

He was Jaime Lannister 

Thump 

He was better then this 

Thump 

This crush was ridiculous and so was he 

Thump


End file.
